Five Times Santana Lopez Kissed Noah Puckerman
by Literature Rogue
Summary: ."No matter what, they always end up like this. It's been this way since they were eight years old." Santana and Puck are creatures of habit. And they like kissing. A lot.
1. Cherry Ring Pop

**Author's Note: **It's come to my attention that there's a real lack of Puck/Lopez fanfiction out there. That makes me sad because I love Puck and I love Santana (and I might love them together even more). So, this story will give you a couple glimpses into the lives of Puck and San over the years. In my personal head canon, Santana and Puck are really close -best friends first, then dating for a while, and eventually best-friends-with-benefits. So that's the universe I'm writing in. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own these characters. I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.

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1.

She's sitting on the jungle gym with Brittany, watching a couple of the older kids hanging out underneath that big tree where the teachers can't see them. Britt's busy plucking the petals off of a flower and letting them blow off into the breeze, but Santana's totally engrossed in watching those two by the tree. One's a boy and one's a girl, and they remind her of someone. She can't really decide who. But the girl's leaning back against the tree trying to look uninterested, but her smirk's a little _too_ wide. And the boy, he's keeping a little space between them, but he's got an arm resting against the tree so his face is right up in the girl's. They might have been arguing with the quick words they're exchanging, but they're both laughing now. And then the boy leans in a little and they kiss.

"Britt, look!"

"Huh?"

They've both seen this happen many times before. From an eight-year-old's standpoint, a kiss is something shared between two people of opposite gender who are close. Maybe best friends? Santana's not sure, but the boy and girl are both grinning when they break apart. Brittany just blinks. "So? My mom and dad do that all the time."

"Yeah, but your mom and dad are old."

"Oh, yeah."

The two girls are quiet for a moment, Brittany turning her attention back to her flower and Santana letting her gaze wander from the older kids and to the group of third grade boys playing football in the large field in front of the school. They're all covered head to toe in dirt and practically undistinguishable, but a couple of them are easy to pick out. Finn Hudson is already towering over the rest of the boys, and he's the one with the ball right now. And the shaggy-haired kid who's running head-first at the quarterback?

That would be Noah Puckerman, Santana's best-friend-since-birth. His backyard leads into hers and their mothers have been friends forever. So they've known each other since they were in diapers. He tackles Finn to the ground and the football squirts out from the awkward tangle of limbs. Mike Chang scoops it up and scores a touchdown for Noah's team.

The wheels are turning in her head and she turns to Brittany for advice because, as much as she loves Noah (in a totally friendly way; come on, they're eight), he doesn't get girl stuff like Barbies and nail polish. So Santana was really glad to meet her best-girl-friend in kindergarten (even if Noah was totally jealous for two days). "What d'you think about Noah?"

Brittany blinks, turning rounded eyes to the group of scrambling boys. "I think he's a boy named Noah." Santana grins. Leave it to Britt to state the obvious. Santana straightens her little skirt and kicks her Mary-Janes together.

"Well, do you think he's cute?" Brittany scrutinizes the football playing boys for a long moment. Her forehead is wrinkled like she's thinking real hard and Santana nudges her after a couple minutes. "Britt?"

"Which one is he again? I can't tell." Santana wants to sigh and rub her forehead, but she knows her friend well enough by now that it hardly bothers her anymore. But when she looks out at the field and sees all of the boys in their grade lumped together and fighting over the football, she laughs. It really _is _kind of hard to tell them apart when they're in a pile like that.

As soon as the ball squirts free again, Noah's the first one up from the ground, sprinting down the line and stooping to pick up the ball. Several of the other boys are hot on his heels, and Noah throws a glance over his shoulder before speeding up a little, breathing out in a long laugh when he breaks free from the pack. He skids into the endzone and throws the football down nose first before letting out a yell of triumph and moving his arms in a circular motion in some kind of touchdown dance. He looks absolutely ridiculous, but he's still her best friend.

"Oh, he's cute," Brittany giggles, nudging Santana's shoulder. "But," she says knowingly, holding up a finger. "Boys have cooties. And if you're thinking what I think you're thinking…" She sighs loudly because Santana's already on her feet. "You should at least get the shot first!"

She cups her hands around her mouth and calls out to him. "Noah!" He looks up at her and grins a wry grin, raising one arm in a wave. She waves back and pulls her fingers towards her, calling him there. Noah frowns a little, looks over his shoulder at the guys, and holds up a finger to tell them _one sec_. Santana's really smug that he'll come see her even if the boys might think he's weird. That's why they're such good friends.

"Hey," he says, resting his hands on his knees as he stops in front of her. "What's up?"

"Can I ask for something?" She's digging her shoe into the dirt and he's straightening up, looking wary. He's known her long enough not to agree right away.

"What?"

"A kiss."

"_Why?_ " He's looking at the other guys again, and they're all staring at them. "That's gross. Girls have cooties."

Santana stomps her foot a little and Noah laughs, raising his brows like _you did not just do that._ "Best friends do that, though, Noah!" His eyebrows pull together in a frown.

"You and Britt…?"

"No!" Because, no, that hasn't happened (yet). "I mean best friends when one's a boy and one's a girl. Duh."

"Oh," Noah says, and he's relieved because there was no way he was gonna kiss Finn, best friend or not. "What if it's weird?"

"Just once. Please?"

"Ugh. _Fine_."

They stand there for a few seconds, Noah with his hands in his pockets and Santana looking up at him expectantly. He takes a step forward and purses his lips and sticks his face forward, his eyes screwed shut. Santana thinks he looks kind of like a fish, but ignores that and leans forward enough so that their lips meet. It's sloppy and awkward and they're both really bad at it, barely brushing their lips together for five or ten seconds before he steps back, blinking in surprise. "You taste like cherry Ring Pop."

"You gave me one at lunch, 'member?" Her voice is unusually quiet, and she's licking her lips a little. He's not looking directly at her, but he heard Matt Rutherford yelling about cooties.

"Oh!" Noah reaches out to take Santana's arm and she looks at him questioningly. "No, see, you gotta get a cootie shot." He does the circle, circle, dot, dot job on her arm and then his own. "There. We're good." They stare at each other for a second before Brittany pops up on Santana's left, bringing them back to the playground and recess.

Finn yells, "Hurry up, Puckerman!" With a little smirk, Noah (not Puck, not yet) shrugs and runs back to join the rest of the boys. "Why'd you do that, Noah?"

"Duh, Finn, best friends do that all the time." He can sense his friend's confused expression without looking at him. "Only when one's a guy and one's a girl. Now let's play football." He steals the ball from Finn and dashes off, ignoring the way Mike and Matt are singing that dumb k-i-s-s-i-n-g song.

"So," Britt says, once Noah's run off to join the rest of the boys. "How was it?"

"…wet."


	2. Bubble Gum

**Author's Note: **...I couldn't resist. There's a little bit of some other (at one point or another) canon couples in here, but that's mostly for comic relief and fun times. Besides, you know stuff like this totally happened. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.

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**2.**

They're thirteen years old, and Quinn Fabray's parents have finally decided that it's okay for her to have a boy-girl party. The rest of them have been going to these sorts of things for the past year now, since they've learned that cooties don't exist and that kissing is kind of cool. Quinn always had to lie and say that no boys would be there or that she was going to Santana's or Brittany's instead. And that was when she convinced her parents to let her go.

So, they're all sitting around in the Fabrays' basement being bored. There are several board games stacked up on the coffee table and Mike and Britt are playing air hockey. Puck's sitting between Finn and Matt looking bored as hell, but Quinn keeps looking over at him, and she's kinda hot (even though none of the girls have boobs yet). As usual, all of the girls are on one side of the room and all the guys are on the other, like some kind of freaky magnetic pull has separated them. It's stupid to play this game, because they all know they're gonna mingle eventually. And Puck would prefer that happened sooner rather than later, because Finn is looking at Quinn who's looking at him, and Puck's pretty sure his best friend is starting to figure out that maybe the birthday girl has her sights set on someone a little more experienced…and less freakishly tall.

"This is retarded," Puck finally announces, and everyone (except Brittany) looks over to him. Britt scores a goal on Mike and the buzzer on the air hockey table goes off while she giggles softly. "I'm bored as hell."

"What should we do, then?" It's Quinn, glaring at him in a way that isn't entirely mean. Puck leans back to rest his weight on his hands. Even at thirteen, he knows a thing or two about girls, and the subtle twitch of the blonde's lips tells him she's not really mad. _Score._

"We could play Twister…"

"Yeah, you'd like that, right Puckerman?" He doesn't need to turn his head to see that Santana's glaring at him from Quinn's left. Finn shifts beside him. His two best friends were never exactly best friends themselves. In fact, Puck could hardly remember the last time he'd spent time with just Finn and Santana at the same time. "Since we're all in skirts and all. Perv."

Puck's shoulders raise and fall in a shrug. "Fine. Let's play a game where I get to make out with pretty girls, then."

Santana scoffs, leaning forward. Puck sees Quinn's eyebrow raise and Finn shake his head subtly, like _don't bother_. Puck and Santana get snappy like this a lot. There's really no point in trying to get them to stop. "Like what?" Santana grumbles, watching the boy through narrowed eyes. "Spin the bottle?"

"Sure." There's a general murmur of laughter around the circle because, come on, Spin the Bottle's kind of tame. Not that any of them have ever really played anything fiercer than that. But no one's ready to admit that, yet. "Got a pop bottle, Fabray?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Cool. Birthday girl goes first." He jerks his head a little and Mike comes wandering back to the circle, Brittany in tow. "Unless we want a lot of gay action, we should probably mix a little." Puck's glancing between a couple of the girls with a smirk, because, honestly? He wouldn't mind seeing a couple of them make out. But there was no way in hell he was gonna purse his lips for Finn. No way. He stays put and so does Santana. They're watching each other from across the circle as people shift and move. He raises a brow at her. She looks away. Puck smirks.

"Go for it," he tells Quinn, and she does. It's more fun with a metal beer bottle, but Puck knows how Quinn's dad is. He'd probably freak out and think they'd been drinking and then blame the kid with the bad reputation and no dad. So the plastic Pepsi bottle Matt came in with will have to do. It spins out and it looks like it's gonna land on Puck –happy birthday to Quinn- when it twists a little and lands on Finn instead. Puck can see his best friend's bemused expression a mile away, but he grins and nudges him. "Lucky you."

Quinn's blushing and it's really funny to watch the most awkward boy at McKinley Middle School shift in his seat. Mike makes a catcall and Matt's all, "Like Nike, man. Just do it." And the girls are whispering behind their hands. It's Santana who shoves Quinn's shoulder and says, "Get on with it already!"

So Quinn leans forward and Finn leans forward a lot more and their lips meet. Puck's got his eyes on his watch instead of looking at them because watching his best friend kiss a girl is still kind of weird and not something he really needs to see. He only looks up once Brittany laughs loudly and says, "Finn's drooling!" which, somehow, breaks the tension. They're both grinning kind of stupidly when they break apart, and that's when Puck knows his best friend has a better chance of snagging that than he ever did.

"Okay, my turn!" Brittany practically squeals, reaching out to spin the bottle. Finn stops looking at Quinn long enough to give Puck a sideways glance, and Puck holds out his fist for him to bump. He does, and then Matt and Mike say _oh crap!_ at the same time and in a way that says _hell yes._ So Puck looks up in time to see that Britt's spin has landed on Santana. He smirks a little and catches Santana's gaze. She stares right back at him in that way she does, but has to look away first this time. He knows she hates that –they're the King and Queen of staring contests, seriously- but Brittany's looking at her with this doe-eyed expression and she's looking back with one torn between annoyance and affection.

"Just to feed your fantasies," Santana mumbles, leaning around Quinn so she can reach Britt. Quinn's got the best seat in the house and Puck and the rest of the guys are jealous, watching as Brittany turns her head a little to kiss Santana and how Santana's fingers curl a little in the hair at the back of Britt's neck. It lasts even longer than Finn and Quinn's kiss and Puck notices how Finn excuses himself to go to the bathroom. It's all too hilarious, from Mike and Matt's wide-eyed stare to Quinn's leaning back like it's contagious.

"So, do you guys practice that kinda stuff at sleepovers or what?" Puck says as soon as the two break apart. They're both reaching for lip gloss and reapplying. Brittany nods a little, Puck snorts, and Santana barks out a _no, you idiot_ and pops her gum at him.

"Okay, big guy, you go," one of the girls says and Puck shrugs and spins the bottle. He doesn't care who it lands on as long as it's not a dude. When it lands on Santana for the second time in a row she swears under her breath, like she's annoyed. Puck knows better.

"Pucker up, mama," he says, winking a little as he leans across the wide gap between them. He knows she won't back down or refuse because this is just a stupid game anyway. And she's never been one to let him win in anything, not when they were four years old and sure as hell not now. So she leans across, too, resting one of her hands on the floor and gets her hand in his ridiculously shaggy, boy band hair. She's not gentle like she was with Britt, though. She's _pulling_ at his hair and the kiss is as much teeth as it is lips until he pushes his tongue between them, mostly to stop her from biting him and partly because he wants to deepen it. She hesitates a little then, her fingers curling lightly as his neck, and when he pulls back her eyes are still closed and her lips are slightly parted.

Puck snaps the gum he's stolen from her and shrugs a little. "You could've at least put in a new piece. This has no flavor."

"Wasn't mine," she snaps, fading back into her old Santana self. "It was Britt's." Puck blows a bubble and thinks that's kinda hot. "You still owe me a piece, though."

The next Monday at school finds Puck expertly picking the lock of Santana's locker. When she opens it in the morning, she finds a pack of Hubba Bubba. As she slams her locker, she sees Puck down the hall talking to Finn and looking smug. She marches up to him and tips her chin up to look at him. "What the fuck did you do to your hair?"

He rakes his fingers through his first mohawk and smirks at her. "Like it, baby?"

"It looks like you took a lawn mower to it."

"It looks badass."

"I hate it."

"Too bad."

She doesn't hate it. At all.


	3. Traditions

**Author's Note: **I realize it's July, but I really couldn't resist. Pointing out some of the differences in Puck and Santana's home dynamic was fun. Plus, I really wanted to throw San's little brother in there...And, yeah, I just made a horrible pun. _Carlos_. _Santana_. Her parents are big fans. Clearly.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of these characters (except sort of Sarah & definitely Carlos). I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.

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**3.**

His Ma would _only _make the exception for Santana. Ever since his Pop walked out, his mother had stopped forcing him to Synagogue every Saturday, but she still had them celebrating the traditional Jewish holidays. Their traditions were different from most. They watched Schindler's List on Yom Kippur and ate Chinese on Passover. But they always lit the Menorah for Chanukah. Puck didn't care. He got a present every day for a week as a kid. And, every year on Christmas, he and his Ma and his sister went over to the Lopez house. They were about as Spanish Catholic as you could get, but his mother had loved Santana and her family forever.

So it wasn't weird that they were standing on the Lopezes' front porch, his Ma carrying her infamous broccoli casserole and seven-year-old Sarah clinging to his side and burying her face into the ridiculous sweater his mother made him wear. Puck's tugging at his collar and tapping his foot impatiently. He's not really excited to see all of Santana's cousins. All they talk about it soccer and they use a lot of Spanish, which is annoying because he only speaks English. But he and Santana have this really stupid little tradition of exchanging gifts on Christmas, even though he doesn't technically celebrate it.

Her Papi opens the door. He's already holding a glass of wine and he hugs his Ma before they can even get in the door, claps him hard on the back when he gets inside. Mr. Lopez has taken on a pseudo-father role in his life since his own Pop walked out, but Puck knows he watches him carefully and he never hesitates to say _Noah Puckerman, if you _ever_ hurt my daughter…_ He never has to finish that sentence because Puck's always nodding his head and going _Yes sir, Mr. Lopez, never_. If he knew how his sweet little girl lost it to him at a party at fourteen, her Papi would probably try to strangle him. Puck is so glad they've kept that little secret to themselves…losing it at Quinn Fabray's place is legend and it'd make a hell of a story, but only Finn (and, Puck assumes, Brittany) know the whole truth.

They're fifteen –he turns sixteen in a couple months- and they're getting way too old for this family bonding shit. He's hoping they can get a couple Natty Lights from her cousin Juan and sit on his back porch instead of sitting at the kids' table for another year. Sarah's still clinging to him for dear life even as Santana's little brother, Carlos, pops up to show her his new toy truck. "Santana's in the basement," her father informs him, and Puck nods before heading down, tugging his sister along with him.

She's sitting on the couch between two of her cousins looking bored out of her mind. Her hair's down and she's wearing this really hot red dress. "Hey," he says, smirking a little. She's out of her seat and approaching him instantly, but it's not him she's got eyes for.

"Hey, Sarah-bear!"

"Santana!" She squeals, breaking away from her brother and flinging herself at her surrogate sister. Sometimes, Puck's convinced Sarah likes Santana more than she likes him. She spends so much time in the Puckerman household that she practically is their sister. But that'd be weird, since Puck and Santana make out…a lot.

"Hi, babe," Santana murmurs, scooping the little girl up and resting her against her hip. She gives Puck a once over and snorts at the ridiculous green sweater he's wearing. It clashes horribly with the mohawk even if it does bring out his eyes. "Did you see Carlos? He's been waiting to give you something…" Sarah's eyes light up and she scrambles to get out of Santana's arms. She lets the little girl go and she dashes off. Santana turns her attention to Puck and raises one eyebrow. "So, do _you_ have anything for _me_?"

Puck's got a hand in his pocket and his fist is closed over the box. His shoulders raise and fall in a shrug. "Sure," he says, ignoring the way her older cousins are watching him with narrowed eyes. Juan likes him, but the rest of them are scary protective. Puck knows if he ever screwed Santana over he'd have so many Spanish guys on his ass he'd have to run to Canada or something. He leans in as if to kiss her but she turns her head at the last second so he catches her cheek rather than her lips. He sighs in annoyance and licks his lips when he draws back, tasting her makeup on his tongue. "Come on. Like they don't know."

She mirrors his shrug and gives him a look that says _be patient, Puck. _What she actually says is "Just because we're together doesn't mean I like PDA." Puck scoffs. That's such a lie. In the hallways at school, they're allowed to kiss all they want. But in front of her family, they're more careful, kind of cautious. He knows she doesn't want her Papi to get angry, but seriously. His Ma and her Ma have been planning their wedding since they were five. If he doesn't know by now, he's an idiot.

Puck takes her hand firmly in his anyway and gives the cousins a look over Santana's head. One of the oldest –maybe a year older than they are- gives him a glare. Puck just smirks and swings their linked hands a little as he tugs her towards the stairs. "Want some hot chocolate or something?" His smirk is only widening because they both know that hot chocolate isn't really their style. She rolls her eyes at him and they head upstairs, away from the prying eyes of her cousins-

-and right into the waiting arms of their parents. His Ma has her arm linked with her Papi's and they're laughing. "-when Noah and Santana were four and he cut off the hair of her Barbie and she cried. And he used his birthday money to buy her a new one." Puck and Santana exchange glances, his looking harassed and hers amused. She'd been _so_ pissed at him at the time, but he made it up to her. Eventually.

"Come on," Puck says, pulling her away from their nostalgic parents. Knowing his mother, the stories will only get more embarrassing as time goes on and the parents drink more. They slip into the kitchen where her Abuela is sitting nursing a cup of coffee. She smiles at the two when they enter and Puck offers her a smile. "Hola, Maria."

Santana rolls her eyes at him. He's such a little suck up. Puck doesn't even pay attention during Spanish class. But her grandmother loves him. So does Carlos. And her Mami. The only one they really need to convince is her father and they're golden. "You don't have to speak Spanish to me, Noah," her grandmother chides him, reaching out to swat his arm. Puck doesn't snap at _her_ like he does when Santana –or anyone else from school for that matter- calls him _Noah_. She knows he's just being polite to his elders or whatever, but it's still kind of annoying.

Santana's grandmother gets to her feet and hobbles out into the living room. Santana doesn't miss the long look she gives to the top of the doorway, but Puck's too busy raiding the fridge by now to notice. "Think they're drunk enough to think they drank all the wine?" He holds up a bottle with a mischievous little grin.

Santana shakes her head. "Not yet." She pulls herself up onto the counter and looks at him expectantly. "Well?"

Puck walks over to her, hands in pockets, and raises his brows. "Well what?" He's totally serious, his expression one of calm certainly. He can see the lines in Santana's forehead wrinkling, and if they were still ten, she'd have already had a temper tantrum at him by now. As it is, they're both matured –a little- and she just kicks his knee with a heel. It actually kind of hurts.

"God, San," Puck complains, digging his hand into the pocket of his jeans and withdrawing a box wrapped in the Sunday comics. It's not like they have Christmas paper. "Don't say I never gave you anything."

She scrutinizes the box for a second before tearing it open. It's a little black box, and the first thing out of her mouth is, "This better be jewelry." Puck doesn't look away from her almost-serious glare. Santana opens the box and she's quiet for so long that Puck's sure he's screwed up. Except the corner of her mouth it turning upwards just a little and she's shaking her head at his 'gift'.

"…This is yours." It's his watch. Or, more accurately, it was his _dad's_ watch, the last thing the deadbeat gave his son before running out on the family when Puck was only eight. Besides the watch, all Papa Puckerman had given his son was a name, a couple smacks to the head, and a daddy complex. Santana remembers how he'd wanted to smash the thing to pieces right after the guy left, but she'd told him to keep it _'cause it might be worth somethin' someday. _"The hell is this for?"

Puck rolls his eyes at her in a patronizing sort of way and snatches the heavy, silver watch from the box. He snaps it expertly around her right wrist (the left is reserved for her and Brittany's BFF bracelets, and Puck knows better than to put himself between those two girls). He just shrugs and crosses his arms loosely over his chest. "So people know we have a thing, even if you don't let me kiss you." Santana rolls her eyes right back. She doesn't belong to anyone, especially not her mohawked best friend.

Still, she thinks, as she turns the still loose watch over her wrist, it'd be kind of a sweet gesture if he wasn't so pigheaded about it. "What about me? Don't you have something for me?" His eyebrows arch toward his hairline as Santana hops down from the counter and hooks her thumbs in his belt loops, directing him back towards the doorway. "San…?" She's looking over his head once they stop in the middle of the doorframe, and he follows her gaze up.

"…You're so lame," he says, staring at the mistletoe hanging above their heads. Normally, they're not into the whole sweet kisses and traditions thing. They're more like…make out and hook up kind of people. That's probably why they work so well together. But Santana's in a mood, and Puck knows better than to disagree with her when she's acting like that. She's standing on tiptoes and tilting his head down so that she can catch his lips with hers. It's a soft kiss, much unlike the ones they've been sharing recently. She's gentle with him –and she's usually not- so Puck's pretty sure he didn't screw up. He lets himself kiss her back, having to watch himself and keep the pace steady. Normally, he wouldn't give a shit, but their parents are lurking around and the last thing he needs is for them to catch him frenching Santana in the k-

"Ew, what are you _doing_?"

"Carlos, you're s'posed to kiss when you get stuck under mistletoe."

Santana pulls back when her younger brother and his little sister pop up holding candy canes. Carlos takes a sideways step away from the doorway, distancing himself from Sarah. Puck turns around a little and gives the pair of them a look. He's glad they're still in the cooties stage because he's actually really protective over his sister, San's brother or not.

"I'm not kissing you. You have cooties."

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

Santana chuckles against his neck and Puck shakes his head a little. "Aren't you glad we grew up a little bit?"

"I'm glad you grew up a little bit. You used to be tiny."

Puck frowns. "Yeah? And you used to be as flat as a two by four." He pauses for a second, tilts his head to the side. "Hey, where's my present?"

Santana laughs and steps away from him, heading for the living room –and the safety of her Papi's gaze. "That _was_ your present."

She winks, though, and Puck figures he's gonna get part two later. Merry _freakin' _Christmas to him.


	4. Mine

**Author's Note: **I think this one's my least favorite of the bunch. In my head a lot more than a kiss happened after _The Boy is Mine_ but this is how it starts.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters. I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.**

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**4.**

Santana is pissed.

She knows it's stupid. After all, _she_ broke up with _him_ only a couple months ago (and not for the reason she'd fed him, either). That doesn't mean he still doesn't text her late at night or that they don't still screw around. Of course they do. They're Puck and Santana for God's sake. They could hate each other and they'd probably still do _that_.

Except Santana's positive he could shave off all his hair and tell her he was going to become a priest and she still wouldn't hate him. He was her best friend. And she felt like she had some kind of claim on him, even when she probably didn't. It probably had something to do with all of the firsts they'd shared –first kiss, first boyfriend, first time. She would never let herself admit that she thought he might even be her first love, because she was Santana fucking Lopez, head bitch. She didn't _do_ love. And she sure as hell didn't love that bald idiot.

Still, she doesn't find herself pissed at Puck. She was mad at Quinn for a while after the truth got out. After all, it wasn't just Finn who got screwed over when Puck screwed Quinn. If the timing's right (and Santana's actually pretty damn good at math), then Puck was with her when Finn was with Quinn. So she got cheated on, too. It just wasn't as big a deal because her relationship with Puck had always been kind of open. But girl code is stricter than guy code. Guys sleep with their boys' girls sometimes because they're drunk or horny or both. Girls are practically forbidden to look at one of their friend's ex's, let alone their boyfriends.

It was easier to get mad at her for God knows what reason. Logically, she knows a lot of it is Puck's fault. But it's_ Puck_. He pulls shit like that all the time, sleeps with girls who are taken and doesn't think twice about it. But Quinn? Santana's known Quinn almost as long as she's known Puck, and she _knows_ better.

Puck's easier to forgive, if only because that's how he is. It doesn't make sense, but it makes sense to Santana. She's just blinded by possessiveness and maybe a little bit of jealousy. Puck is hers. Her best friend, her first boyfriend, _hers_. And the selfish part of her doesn't want to share that with anyone. It's why she's never given in to his really obvious hints at threesomes. Not even with Brittany. They're _both_ too important to her for that.

But, for whatever reason, Britt's dream to make out with everyone in the school doesn't bother her as much as Puck's track record does. It's not like she'd ever been exclusively with either of them…well, okay. She and Puck were each other's one-and-only when they were, like, fourteen. Freshman year screwed everything up. Being a football stud and a Cheerio gained both of them a lot of attention. And high school was a time of experimentation…or so Puck had explained to her. Admittedly, it was partially Santana's fault for agreeing to it. She'd kind of…made him the way he was. And she let him come around for casual sex, which was amazing and tortuous at the same time.

It was always good, but the feeling after? Well, it was just sex. There was hardly any connection. Actually, they'd been growing apart –even as friends- and that sucked. They hardly went to each other's houses except as some sort of booty call, which was a far cry from how they'd used to be. They used to go over each other's houses when shit went down. He was at her place the night his dad left and she went to him when her grandpa died. They hadn't just _talked_ in forever. And no, that time when his mohawk got shaved off doesn't count.

The fact that he was going after Mercedes was the last straw. Puck was such a dumbass. If all he'd wanted was to date a Cheerio to reclaim his status as a football and Glee stud, he could've gone after Brittany (which wouldn't have ended well). Or, you know, _her_. They'd been best friends for God knows how long and he hadn't even thought of her. It was so freaking stupid. Puck didn't even like tubbers. Even if it was just to protect his rep, it stung like hell.

So, just to stake her claim –and make a point to her mohawk-less best friend- Santana had just dueted it out with Mercedes in front of the entire Glee club. She's pretty sure the diva would've beaten the crap out of her if Schuester hadn't stepped in. But once their director was between them, Santana's lips were looser. "Did you get that, Coco Puff? Or do I need to spell it out for you?"

Throughout the entire thing, Puck had sat hunched in his chair, grinning wryly and looking from one girl to the other. Two chicks duking it out for him? It was pretty much a fantasy come true. And they were both Cheerios. The Puckster was back in action. He catches Santana's eye after she speaks and raises his brows skeptically. "Noah Puckerman is _mine_." And, just for good measure, she throws a couple glares at preggers and man-hands, too. The boy was on his way to being with every girl in this club.

The wheelchair kid better watch out.

"You broke up with him!" Someone –it sounded suspiciously like Kurt- snaps. Santana doesn't care. She's already stalking off towards the door.

"Hey!" Mr. Schue is saying. "I get that you guys are in a really…tough part of life and you sometimes need to express yourselves through song. But if we're gonna take Regionals, we really need to practice." Someone was blocking the damn door. Santana's too busy focusing on her white sneakers to keep from racing back towards Mercedes –because she couldn't try and hit Puck, as much as he might deserve it- so she doesn't notice until she almost slams right into him.

"_Move_," she all but growls. He's smirking at her in that way he does. Normally, it kind of turns her on. But right now? It was just pissing her off more.

Puck had his arms crossed loosely over his chest and had his head tipped to the side in question. "You know," he says casually, ducking his head a little bit so that his lips are close to her ear. He's being all coy and annoying so the rest of them won't hear. "That was really hot. I haven't heard you hit notes like that since the last time we did it."

Santana rolls her eyes so hard it hurts and crosses her arms right back at him. "Yeah? Well you sure as hell won't be hearing _that_ anytime soon."

"Won't hear what?" Puck parrots, playing dumb. "Won't hear you go up an octave and accidentally say _Noah_ instead of _Puck_?" He copies her eye roll. Normally, Santana's really good about not calling him by his full name. She's one of the only people who knows why he doesn't like using the same first name as his father. But, sometimes, it slipped. "We both know if I called you'd be at my place tonight."

She grits her teeth and bites back a retort, fixing him with a level stare. They both know he's right. Puck shrugs and reaches out to uncross her arms. He wraps his fingers loosely around her wrists and tugs her back into the room. "C'mon. Let's practice." Santana wants nothing more than to leave him hanging, but there'll be time for that later. When he _does_ call her later (which they both know he will), she'll go over and get him all ready. And then she'll leave him high and dry, making him hide out in the bathroom with a Playboy and his left hand. He deserves it.

Plus, she couldn't leave. That'd show weakness. And she couldn't have the Glee kids thinking she was going soft. So she lets him lead her back to the chairs and they sink down side by side. Mercedes keeps looking back at them and Santana is getting irritated. "She keeps looking over here. What's her problem?"

"Well, I _was_ kinda dating her. I think."

Santana scoffs. "Right. Well, if you haven't done it yet, it doesn't count." She pauses to examine her fingernails. "Not that that's stopped you before."

Puck leans towards her. "Are you still going on about that? Because a little blonde birdie told me I wasn't the only one…" She shoots him a look that quite clearly says _that's not the same and you know it. _Puck doesn't argue, because that's kind of true. He knows he pulled a douche move on _both_ of his best friends that night. "Whatever. It's not like you didn't know better."

"_You_ should've known better," Santana snaps back. She reaches out like she's gonna shove his face away, since it's really close to hers, but they must not have been whispering as softly as they thought they'd been since Mr. Schuester stops talking altogether and fixes his gaze on the pair.

"Puck?" He pauses and sighs a little, like he knows not to push Santana. He does anyway. "Santana. Do you have something to share with the rest of us?"

Puck shrugs noncommittally, though he looks surprised that Schue had the stones to say anything. Most of the time, there's like ten different conversations going on in the choir room during practice (and one of them is often Brittany talking to herself). Santana, however, seems to take the fact that all heads turned towards them to her advantage. She gives Mercedes a particularly long stare before moving her hand to the back of Puck's head and kissing him firmly.

It's more of a statement than a kiss, though. Her lips are rough and fast against his, and he's turning his head to get a better angle. His eyes are closed but hers are open and she's pointedly looking at Mercedes, like _the boy is _mine_. _And, for a while, he is.

But he's Puck and she's Santana, so it doesn't last long at all. He's got his baby momma to deal with and she has other boys to test drive. That's just what they do.


	5. Journey

**Author's Note: **I don't know about you, but when Santana and Puck had their little solo/duet during _Don't Stop Believin'_ at Regionals, I literally squealed. Partly because I love both Mark's and Naya's voices (and they sound _awesome_ together) and partly because they both looked so freakin' happy. I know that might just be Mark and Naya being Mark and Naya, but still. Here's a prelude to that. Practice makes perfect. Also, there will be one more chapter. I know. The title's misleading.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters. I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.

* * *

**5.**

They're all sitting in the choir room screwing around because Regionals is coming up and everyone's depressed. Ever since the St. James kid dumped Rachel –and, consequently, New Directions- morale had been low for the Glee Club. So Puck and Finn had taken it upon themselves to put the past behind them –for now- and entertain the rest of them with a guitar and drum medley. They're halfway through _High School Never Ends _when Mr. Schuester blows into the room all wild hair and hot-off-the-presses sheet music.

"Okay, guys, we're gonna change things up for Regionals."

"Mr. Schuester, I really think that the combinations we have are proving to be very successful in the long run and-"

"Let the man speak, Berry." Finn throws him a look but Puck just shrugs. There's only so much diversity in giving every lead and solo to Rachel-and-Finn, the Glee power couple anyway. Besides, Puck's sure Schue's just trying to humor the rest of them. The golden couple will still get their solos.

"Uh. Thanks, Puck. Anyway, here's the changes I've made on _Don't Stop_…"

It's quiet for a second as everyone looks over the scribbled notes Mr. Schue's written over the verses and chorus. Rachel's brow is furrowing farther and farther, but when she looks up she seems fine. She does, however, ask the question that most of the club's thinking. "Puck and Santana?"

Santana, who'd been texting away, looks up abruptly. Dark eyes flick from Rachel to Schue and back again. Her gaze drops to the sheet music in front of her, then to Puck, and her eyes narrow into little slits. "You've _got_ to be kidding me." If anything, she'd expected them to throw Fabray the lines. After all, Glee Club seemed to be all about sexual tension while singing…but, she supposes, she and Puck always brought a lot of that to the table. She thinks Schuester is screwing with them. Or, trying to help (since he's _always_ doing that). Either way, Santana is not amused.

"Your vocal ranges are actually pretty similar," Rachel says brightly. Santana's glare is directed at her and the Glee queen shuts up almost immediately. Puck snorts and then the dagger eyes are thrown at him instead. He rearranges his expression into a neutral one.

"She's right, Santana. Your voices will probably sound good together." Mr. Schue.

"If she doesn't want it, I'll take it." Mercedes.

"At least you're getting a solo." Kurt.

Santana's teeth are gritting with each point, partly because she's annoyed and mostly because they _make total sense._ But Puck's had little to do with her since Quinn moved in to his place –and then moved out- and singing Journey is not gonna fix anything. "Remember that time you and Puck sang Happy Birthday to me?" If it had been anyone other than Britt, Santana probably would've growled at them. As it is, she just closes her eyes and rubs her temples. "You sounded almost as good as the High School Musical kids."

"Come on, San," Puck says, rolling his eyes at her from across the room. "Or are you backing down?" That's all he has to say to get her to begrudgingly agree. Santana Lopez never backs down from a challenge. Unfortunately, that left them to actually have to _practice_ together, which might become a problem if she just wanted to kick him in the balls. "Let's head out to the gym. You know Berry and Hudson are gonna hijack the auditorium…"

"We are not," Finn says. But when Puck and Santana walk by ten minutes later, they hear Berry's High F through the door and exchange a look.

They walk down the hallways in silence, which isn't necessarily weird for them, but it's not a comfortable silence. It's thick with tension and kind of awkward and Puck hates it. He knows it's been hard for her, ever since the whole baby gate thing went down, but there's not much he can do about it. He had to take responsibility for his kid like_ his_ father never did. Santana _gets_ that. He knows she does. Doesn't make it any easier. "So…" He tries, looking up from his untied shoelaces to catch her gaze.

He almost wishes he hadn't looked since she's giving him that bitch glare again. But Noah Puckerman doesn't back down from a challenge, either, so he just stares back at her evenly. "Don't even start, Puckerman," Santana barks, and Puck shrugs at her. He knows it's better to just let her go once she gets going. "You don't say a fucking word to me until you need to whine about your stupid mohawk-" She's lying. She loves that mohawk. "-or you want laid. You do realize I'm more than just a quick fuck, right?"

They're in the middle of the hallway between classes, so it's not like there's many people to listen. That Jew-fro kid would probably love to catch this conversation, though, and write something up about _another_ nonexistent love triangle. Puck hated that kid. "Look, you're the one who broke up with me before all the shit even hit the fan." Santana huffs a little because, yeah, that's totally true. She has nothing to say to that, really.

There was a real reason she broke up with Puck, but she hasn't even admitted that to herself yet. She's sure as hell not gonna try and stumble her way through it to justify the decision to him. He probably wouldn't get it anyway. He's got a baby momma and he thinks with Little Puck more often than that. "Can we just do this thing?"

"Have sex?"

"You're such an ass." He's smirking and when he does that, she can hardly help the quirk of her lips that follows. He's looking at her and the smirk melts into a Noah grin, one she remembers from grade school days. Santana throws a glance over her shoulder, but not because she's embarrassed. She's Santana fucking Lopez. She doesn't _do_ embarrassed. But Jacob Ben Israel is creeping down the hallway, and she knows he likes to write like Gossip Girl, so she gestures to the gym and he nods, grabbing her hand and hiding behind the corner James Bond style.

She tries to ignore the way he's pressing against her while they stand against the wall. Puck keeps looking around the corner and muttering curse words under his breath because Jacob's not leaving. He's hanging around Rachel's locker. "I think we gotta go for it," he's talking in a hushed tone and looking around like someone's gonna jump out at any second and try and kill them or something. In reality, the worst that's gonna happen is that the hall monitor catches them without a pass and they get detention. Or, rather, _Puck _gets detention because Coach Sylvester would definitely get Santana out of it. Perks of being a Cheerio.

She turns around to tell him this, but the serious expression on his face is laughable, so she just stifles a giggle –which is _so_ not Santana-like- and lifts one eyebrow. Puck takes one of her hands loosely in his and mouths _one, two, three!_ On three, they both bolt around the corner and into the gym, the doors swinging shut behind them. They're both five years old again and playing cops and robbers with Finn and Brittany, laughing and hushing each other at the same time. When Jacob Ben Israel or Sue Sylvester doesn't break in on them, their laughter fades off into relieved sighs.

"What are you?" Santana asks walking to the middle of the floor. "Five?"

"I turned sixteen this year. Remember my birthday present?" He's staring at her and she's staring back, but this time she turns away first. She's not losing anything. She's just ending the conversation. Puck doesn't push her, just sits down on the bleachers and props his guitar on his lap. He plucks the chords to _Don't Stop_ and looks over at her expectantly. "…which part is ours?"

Santana looks down at the music she's holding and follows the arrow from the circle around her and Puck's names. She doesn't think about how they're linked together too much because it gives her a headache. "Start from the second half of the first verse, after Hudson and Berry's train crap." Puck nods, like he knows _exactly_ what she's talking about.

Once he gets to the top of the verse on the guitar, he starts off, voice a little rough and raspy from lack of use. "A singer in a smoky room."

She's looking at the ceiling. "The smell of wine and cheap perfume." Puck's fingers halt on the strings and she turns to look at him, lips curling back in a frown. "_What?_"

"You're flat. Just relax and do it like you did in that one song you sang…" Santana knows Puck's not saying _y'know, the one where you and Jones almost broke into a fist fight? _to preserve her feelings. She's not sure whether she thinks he's sweet or if she's pissed off because he shouldn't treat her any differently _now_ when he didn't _then_.

"Start over."

He does. "A singer in a smoky room."

"The smell of wine and cheap perfume." This time, it's Santana who doesn't follow Puck into the next lines. She's fisting her hair in a hand and rolling her eyes. "What's _wrong_ with me?"

"Nothin'," Puck says automatically, and he stops playing again. Santana looks at him long and hard for a second before stopping her anxious pacing.

"Get up."

"'scuse me?" Puck says, and he barks out a laugh. "I can do that if you want, but you were really pissed a second ago…"

"Not like that you perv." Santana clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Drop the guitar and just sing with me. It'll get me warmed up." Puck's shoulders raise and fall in a shrug and he sets down the guitar carefully in the bleachers before walking towards her. He stops a few steps away and counts out a few beats like he knows they do in cheer. He even echoes a few of the _da da das _before jumping into it again.

"A singer in a smoky room." He's walking towards her, kind of like Finn and Rachel's choreography for this number has them do. She's following him, too.

"The smell of wine and cheap perfume." They meet right in the middle of the gym, right over the _McKinley High Titans_ logo. Puck gets an arm around her waist and she follows suit. "For a smile they can share the night. It goes on and on and on and on…" As their voices mix, they steal Finn and Rachel's little turn and Puck's really smiling and Santana's laughing a little when he spins her out ballroom style and pulls her back in by the arm.

She's reminded of how her Papi insisted on making a big deal out of her fifteenth birthday. Kids usually have sweet sixteens, but not Santana Lopez. She had a fucking quinceanera. After she and her father had the usual dance, there was supposed to be a boy who cut in. It was supposed to be all ceremonial, about going from being a little girl to a woman. Puck had been that boy since they'd been dating at the time. It was kind of like this, except there was actual music and he sucked at ballroom dancing.

And then, he'd kissed her. Without really thinking about it, Santana leans up to kiss him on the lips. It's soft at first, and he barely responds, clearly caught off guard. But once he eases into it, his lips curl and close over hers again and again. She parts his lips this time, and her tongue mixes with Puck's. He presses back, and when she breaks the kiss to breathe, he bites down a little on her lower lip. Santana inhales sharply and takes a step away, licking her lips a little.

He still tastes the same. It's weird.

"That was…good," Puck says, chewing his bottom lip.

"Yeah," Santana agrees, then turns her back on him. "Grab your guitar and let's go again."

She's clearly not talking about kissing. Puck looks a little disappointed as he goes to retrieve his guitar.


	6. Together

**6.**

"Santana, I'm real fucked up right now…"

"Yeah. I can tell." He never uses her full name. Hasn't since they were kids. They're still kids, kind of, but he's _had _a kid. It seems like forever since he's called her by her name –almost as long as since she's called him _Noah_- and almost as long since he's called her on the phone _like this_. Lately, the only reason he calls her up is for a booty call. And he's taken to texting anyway, since it's faster. Usually, he'll call her drunk because his asshole father's in town. She knows that's not the case tonight, though.

"Can you come over?"

She sighs into the phone and rakes her fingers through her hair. It's down and she's in a pair of sweats and already wearing her glasses. She looks basically like shit, and as much as she'd like to doll herself up for him (just so he can see what he's missing, obviously), she can tell by the desperate tone in his voice that he needs her _now_. The bitter part of her doesn't want to go at all, wants to tell him to call someone else to pick up the pieces. But Finn's still pissed at him and he's pissed at Quinn (not that she'd be there anyway, not tonight). She can't just leave him to drink himself into a coma while his Ma's at work. That wouldn't be responsible.

And, besides, asshole or not, baby or not, he's still her best friend. "Yeah," Santana says, already heading for the door. "Put the bottle down 'til I get there."

"Thanks, San." He's back to the nicknames, which is familiar and somehow comforting. He's still there. "I owe you one."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more than one." She hangs up.

Puck's sitting on the floor of his living room watching _The Breakfast Club_ and drinking straight from a bottle of cheap whisky. Natty Light would've been cheaper, but he needs harder liquor tonight. He's still wearing his clothes from Regionals, though the sleeves of his button up are rolled up and the tie got tossed somewhere in the backseat of his truck on the way home from the hospital. His eyes are kind of glazed over and he's staring blankly at the TV, not really seeing it at all.

"Jesus." Santana's angry-but-concerned tone is one he recognizes, so he barely spares her a glance as she appears in the room. She knows his Ma keeps the spare key under the duck statue out back. "You look like shit." He snorts a little but tips the bottle towards her in a silent toast before taking another long swig.

Santana barely hesitates before approaching him. He's too busy watching the Breakfast Club kids exchange secrets to notice that she's taking his booze away until it's too late. "What the fuck?" He complains, hazel eyes snapping up to glare at her. She doesn't back down, just glares back at him in the way only a Head Cheerleader can. "If you wanted some, you could've just asked."

Puck likes to ramble when he's drunk, and judging by the way his eyes keep losing focus and the fact that the bottle's already half gone, Santana's sure she's gonna hear all about why he's in such a state. So, for some liquid courage to sit through what's sure to be a story that drives her fucking insane, she takes a gulp from the bottle and ignores the way the alcohol burns as it slides down her throat. That goes away after about the third swig, usually. "What's up?" She asks through gritted teeth, basically inviting him to spill. It's all too obvious why he's upset. He's just lost his _daughter_.

It's still weird to think that her best friend Puck has a kid. Or that he got Quinn Fabray pregnant. Santana tries not to think about it too much because it _hurts_. She takes another sip of vodka.

"Did you know she didn't even put the goddamn name on the birth certificate?" He barks out a laugh that's distorted and unhappy and not his own. Puck reaches for the bottle and Santana doesn't pull it away from him when he takes another sip. After he'd opened up enough in front of the whole club and sang that song to her, the kid didn't even get the name. It sucked. "Bitch."

Breathing out in a little sigh, Santana pries the bottle away from his fingers and takes her turn. It's still burning and she's still sober, but hopefully she won't be for long. This night would be a hell of a lot easier to get through drunk, even if she knows Puck's gonna wake up tomorrow morning just as bitter and with a hangover from hell. And she'll have to listen to him bitch then, too. _Awesome_. "That was a bitch move," she admits, but holds up a hand so that he won't interrupt her. She's not finished. "But Puck, you gotta look at it from her perspective. Quinn's _sixteen years old_. She shouldn't have to deal with this crap." She shrugs a little, passing the bottle of vodka from hand to hand. "Neither should you. It's what's best for you both…and the kid."

She doesn't like talking about it. She'd gone to the hospital with the rest of the Glee Club, sat in the waiting room while Quinn gave birth. They'd all stood behind Puck in the hallway and looked at little Drizzle/Beth Fabray-Puckerman through the glass. Puck had leaned his head against the glass and sighed and Mr. Schue had hugged him. Even Finn had given him an awkward-but-firm pat on the shoulder. That little baby girl had done nothing wrong. Her parents were stupid teenagers, but Santana could hardly look at her. She only reminded her of how Puck had been _her_ boyfriend and Quinn was her _friend_ and they'd still screwed. And screwed her over.

She knew it was wrong to blame the baby, but it didn't make her any easier to look at her. Santana took another drink.

"But she's my_ kid_." Santana's starting to think she's gonna need more alcohol for this, but Puck's taking the bottle back and drinking like he's dehydrated and it's water and not vodka. He slams the almost empty bottle against the coffee table. The glass on wood makes a really loud _smack_ in the dark and quiet house. "I have a _kid_ and I'm never gonna see her again. I barely even got to _hold_ her and…_fuck_ this."

Puck's trying to stand but he's unsteady. Santana's got a hand on his arm and she's giving him her best sympathetic look. It's hard because she's still bitter herself, but he's Puck and she's Santana. She'll be there for him even in the worst times even if she'd much rather not have to do the comforting thing. It's not really her style. He sighs loudly and sinks back against the couch, leaning his shoulder heavily against her. "I'm just like him, y'know."

"You're not," she says automatically. It's not hard to figure out what Puck's talking about. He's named after his father and has been walking in his shadow since the day the deadbeat left town. As much as Puck is like his dad –star football player, womanizer, teen father- he's so _not_. Unlike him, Puck took responsibility for his kid. His dad had knocked his Ma up in high school and they'd done the wedding thing, but look how that turned out. At least Puck had been there for Quinn and had let her do what they had to do. "Giving her up? That's the best gift you and Quinn could've given her. Just by doing that you're ten times the dad yours ever was."

He's reaching for the vodka again and Santana swats his arm away from it. He glares at her and she just shakes her head subtly. Puck falters when he realizes she's looking at him with pity. There's no challenge there, no combative glare to match his. Santana only does that when he's really messed up, and that's enough to send him over the edge again. "I wanted to keep her," he confesses, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. He feels like such a fucking girl right now and he doesn't want to cry in front of Santana Lopez. She knows him for being strong (mostly) and though he knows she'd never tell a soul, he doesn't like showing weakness. It's something they have in common. "I wanted to try and be…" The rest of the sentence is lost in another sigh.

"Puck, you don't know how hard that would've been." Shaking her head, Santana squeezes his arm gently. "You and Quinn fight as it is. A baby would've only made it worse." She doesn't mean to be harsh, but it's true. She can tell he cares about the blonde, but they're in high school. How many of those relationships actually work ten years down the line? That kid probably would've ended up in a broken household. Puck of all people wouldn't have wanted that. He grew up in one himself.

"She's _my_ baby girl, though." His voice breaks once on _my_ and again with _girl_. Before she knows what's happening, Puck's collapsing in towards her and she's wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He's not crying (yet), but his body is actually shaking with what she can only guess are suppressed sobs. The last time she saw him like this, they were eight and his Pop had just walked out. Since then, it's always been him comforting her. But Santana takes to it instinctively, holding him firmly but not too tight, rubbing his back a little. She doesn't let go. It's like she has to hold on to him to hold him together.

"She always _will_ be, Puck. No one can take that away from you."

He's quiet for a while, and soon, the shudders wracking his body stop. Santana thinks he might have fallen asleep, which is fine with her. She'll stay here all night if she has to so she can make sure he doesn't die of alcohol poisoning or something. She stops stroking his back and stares at the bottle of vodka. It's very tempting to finish the rest of it off because she's got a pounding headache and she wishes _she _could sleep, but her mind's too full.

As she's reaching for the bottle, though, Puck stirs. He wasn't asleep after all. She knows because he's a heavy sleeper. Her movements wouldn't have woken him up. He pulls back a little and he's _staring_ at her with this intense look in his eye. "What's-" Santana swallows the rest of the words as he leans towards her. She knows what he's doing. He's gonna kiss her. They've shared many drunken kisses over the years, so this should be no different.

Except Puck was never a father before. And he was never looking for some sort of approval or way to distract himself from giving his baby up. Santana kind of wants to kiss him, since she's missed it, but she knows that when they wake up in the morning he probably won't remember any of this and she _will_ since she hasn't had that much to drink. She can't sit around pining and remembering the way his lips taste. She just can't do that to herself anymore, at least not while there's no chance. Puck's too messed up right now to be thinking clearly. She can't blame him.

But she can't kiss him, either. So she turns her head so that his lips sloppily catch her cheek instead. Puck draws away when he realizes this, raising his eyebrows at her in question. "You're drunk," Santana says by way of explanation. Her eyes say _you don't want this._ He licks his lips and closes his eyes before sinking into her again, curling up and resting his head in the crook of her neck. Santana lets him. The last time he did that, he'd done it so she wouldn't see him cry. He was such a boy, even now.

They sit like that for a while, on the floor with an open vodka bottle between them. No matter what, they always end up like this. It's been this way since they were eight years old. Whenever one of them goes through something big, they end up together, curled up and quiet. Usually, there's alcohol involved. They never talk about these times –not when his Pop left or when her Grandpa died- except sometimes when they're alone. Mostly, they pretend stuff like this doesn't happen. He's Puck and she's Santana. They're tough, the asshole and the head bitch. They don't show emotion like that.

When Mrs. Puckerman returns from her shift at the hospital, she finds her son asleep on the couch with Santana Lopez holding tightly to him. She doesn't say anything or even wake them up, just tiptoes upstairs. She's not stupid. She knows what her son does and what Santana is to him. But they'd always been best friends first and she can tell by the way Santana's got her arms wrapped firmly around his middle and the way her Noah is clinging to her that some things never change.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, there ya go. _Five Times Santana Lopez Kissed Noah Puckerman (And One Time She Didn't)_. I know this ended on a kind of...depressing note, but at least it's sort of open-ended. You guys can imagine that Puck and San work out their differences. Also, I figure _someone_ had to help him through that night. I hope you guys enjoyed this little series. And don't worry. I've got an idea for another Puck/Lopez story. So keep an eye out for that. Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters. I am only responsible for their fictional corruption.


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